


Recovery

by Melo_Mapo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Coach Derek, Friends to Lovers, Injury, Injury Recovery, Jujitsu, Lifeguard Derek, M/M, Martial Arts, Massage, Mutual Masturbation, Recovering Stiles Stilinski, Swimming, Swimming Pools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melo_Mapo/pseuds/Melo_Mapo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles, following Deaton's advice, goes to the swimming pool to recover from a leg injury, he's surprised to stumble there on ex-alpha, real-wolf, all-my-exes-are-murderers Derek Hale. </p><p>Who's apparently a lifeguard and swimming coach when he's not brooding in his loft…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The loud shrill of a whistle rings in the suffocating, moist and warm air of the swimming pool. Stiles flinches, turns to the sound. 

"Martha, no drowning your friend Leo, you know it!"

Stiles's jaw proceeds to fall to the floor. That's... It's... Derek Hale, in swimming trunks and a t-shirt, whistle around his neck, is crouching near the edge, lecturing a little girl with a bright blue cap. When he stands up and turns around, there's "Beacon Hill municipal swimming pool" written on his chest and Stiles hears himself squeak. 

It's a testament to werewolf hearing that Derek picks it up among the sounds of the 6 o'clock aqua gym class throwing water everywhere at the orders of a cassette tape with tacky music and the shrill voice of the female instructor. 

Stiles feels like a dear in headlights as Derek's eyes zero in on him, grazing on his body and stopping on his leg, where the scar is still red and angry. 

Derek marches upon him, with this certainty in his gait he gets when he goes to battle, and it has Stiles stumbling back a bit. Derek stops way too close, and speaks over the ambient racket :

"You're here for the reeducation?"

Stiles stares at him dumbly and Derek sighs, points to his leg and raise his amazing eyebrows into question mode. Stiles looks at his leg, balances some of his weight of it to lessen the pain, and nods. 

"Doctor's orders. Though I can barely walk so I wonder how I'm even gonna swim."

Stiles narrows his eyes at a swimmer who zips by in a flawless crawl. Derek sighs again, pass a hand on his face and Stiles definitely hear the scratch of his stubble. Derek's eyebrows are doing the Mildly Pissed dance, that Stiles often gets directed at him, and he is ready to defend himself from whatever he said wrong when Derek takes one look at him and says :

"I'm not mad at you."

Stiles relaxes minutely. And stares. And waits. And stares some more. Until Derek relents. 

"Stay here." 

Not quite the explanation Stiles was hoping for, but as Derek walks toward the maitre nageur office, he limps to the nearest bench and sits, putting his towel and goggles on it too. 

A few minutes later, Derek comes back.

"I'll be your trainer for the next three months of therapy."

Stiles is so flabbergasted he has trouble deciding if it's a curse or a blessing. He tries to sputter something, but Derek rolls his eyes and grabs him by the elbow, turning him toward the small basin, where the kids are playing. 

Stiles grumbles about not being 8 years old anymore, but a glance at the lines where people are actually swimming makes him realize he probably belongs with the young and uncoordinated. 

"I'm not a baby," complains Stiles. 

Derek says nothing and has him sit on the edge, feet dangling, before he takes off his shirt and let's himself slip in the water with barely a ripple. Stiles his happy to be already sitting, because Jesus, Derek topless never seizes to be quite a sight. He hopes the smell of chlore is potent enough to hide the arousal that curls in his gut, reinforced by the envious looks some moms are throwing his way. One of them even drops her kid for a second, lost in the contemplation of Derek's back. 

The werewolf gestures for him to get down, holding him to ease him gently in the water. 

"Still not a baby," grumbles Stiles. 

"Really? Because you whine like one," snaps Derek, but his eyebrows are doing the fake pissed expression.

"Derek Hale, are you being funny?!"

There's no smile on his face, but a crinkle near his eyes that makes Stiles think of his mom's laugh lines. Maybe therapy won't suck that much, he thinks as Derek demonstrates the first exercise to him by stretching his muscled calves.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Stiles takes it back, all back. Derek is a horrible, no good, bad therapist. He can see through his bullshit without failure, can smell the pain on him and hence knows exactly when Stiles is being lazy and should push more. Stiles is pretty sure his legs couldn't bent like that even _before_ the accident. By the time the hour runs out, Stiles has cursed the fucking pixies to Hell and back, the damn forest, Derek, and his very own ancestry on a few generations. And all the while, the werewolf has shown a patience Stiles didn't know he had. He was never that patient a few years back, when he turned a bunch of teenagers into his betas, that's for sure. Derek glances at the clock. 

"One more series of squats and we're done for tonight. My class is coming up." 

"What, you've got even more desperate cases to attend to?" 

Derek rolls his eyes:

"The 5 years-old in my class could beat you right now."

Stiles gapes a little. 

"Wait, you teach kids to swim?"

"No, I just sit on the side and look pretty," Derek deadpans. 

"You totally could. I'm sure people would come for that."

Something between surprise and annoyance flutters on Derek's face before his eyebrows come back to a carefully neutral expression. 

"Stop saying nonsense and get out, the kids are arriving."

And true to his words, a band of chatty, joyous kids is gathering on the side of the pool, in multicolored swimsuits. 

Stiles hauls himself up the ladder, and he feels tired but actually accomplished. Well, until he takes his first step with his bad leg, which can't seem to hold his normal weight anymore. Stiles tries to regain balance by putting his weight on his other foot, but the floor is slippery and he feels himself fall. He's bracing for impact when he's caught under the armpits and straightened. 

Turning in Derek's embrace, he holds on to him, panic beating rabbit fast in his heart, fear of hurting his leg making the muscle clench painfully. 

You're okay, Stiles, breathes."

And when Stiles does just that, he realizes 1- the sinful amount of skin to skin contact going on 2- the glare of death that a little girl in the group waiting for the class is aiming at him. 

"Dude... I think you have a groupie," says Stiles, trying to put some distance between his round little tummy and Derek's abs of steel. 

The werewolf ignores the remark, focused on not letting go of Stiles, taking so much of his weight Stiles feels like he's floating rather than walking. Not that he's complaining. Derek sits him on the bench, grabs a towel that must be his, and starts drying Stiles. It's a bit infantilizating, to be honest, but it allows Derek to discreetly do a bit of his werewolf pain mojo, and Stiles is completely on board with that. 

The glare gets even more intense. The girl has a blue swimming cap on, and Stiles thinks he recognizes her from when he came in. She has a nyan cat swimsuit that's difficult to forget. 

"Derek, she's boring holes in my head. With her _eyes_."

The werewolf glances across the swimming pool. 

"That's Martha. She... She likes me."

"Well... The girl has good taste, I can give her that."

Stiles is pointedly looking at Derek as he says that, and again catches the fleeting mix of surprise and annoyance on Derek's face.

"True. The nyan cat swimsuit is pretty rad."

What have Stiles's life become?! Not only Derek Hale has a sense of humor, but he's also a geek. And when Stiles grins at him, ready to tease him about it, he's rendered speechless by the little smile, small and shy, playing at the corner of Derek's lips.

"See you tomorrow?" the werewolf asks.

Stiles can only nod.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little snipets to progress in time! And some Scott & Stiles interaction.

 

Stiles is a little ashamed that it takes him three therapy sessions with Derek to realize it's weird for a werewolf to know so much about how long human injuries take to heal, how muscle needs to be built back again, and how there will always be a fragility there even if the bones mended. He suspects the efforts he has to make and the distracting amount of Derek's skin he always has in his field of vision are for something in the non-correct firing of his brain.

 

Stiles is still stuck in the kiddie pool, the special basin where he can always stand. He's leaning back on the edge right now, doing an exercise. There is a floater tied around the ankle of his injured leg, and he is repeatedly pushing it in the water. Derek is sitting on the edge of the pool next to him, feet in the water.

"Soooo… How come you know how to do this?"

Stiles vaguely gestures to himself and his leg, and Derek must have been waiting for the question because he doesn't look surprised in the least. It still takes him a while to answer, but Stiles is not in a hurry. There is still half an hour of the session to go.

"My pack… before… We weren't all werewolves."

Stiles nods, but doesn't say a word. Sometimes, it's enough to coax a few extra words out of Derek.

"Humans in packs get hurt. Especially as kids, when they don't realize there are some stuff they can't do like the others. And sometimes, it's a werewolf kid who isn't too good yet at measuring their own strength."

It's a lot of words for Derek, even if he's been better with them lately.

"Have you ever been that 'werewolf kid'."

There's a bit of teasing in Stiles's voice, but mostly curiosity. Derek snorts:

"Nah. Laura was the brash one."

Stiles smiles. Derek Hale, sounding fond. Stiles turns his head and catches the shadow of a smile on the werewolf's face.

"Ok, time for the next exercise."

And without further ado, Derek takes of his shirt and gets in the water. A few people gape and Stiles can't help the surge of smug-smug-smug when Derek gently reaches for his leg and unties the floater, explaining all the while in a quiet voice the next movement Stiles will have to do, and how Derek will be there in case his muscle isn't quite up for it yet.

 

\---

 

Soon, Stiles develops a routine. With no lacrosse practice as long as his leg hasn't fully healed, he's free every day after school, and goes without failure to the swimming pool, where Derek always seems available for him. They start with a warm up outside the water, before doing a series of aquagym-like exercises in the water. Stiles even makes friends with some of the little kids with whom he has to share the smaller basin.

It's already mid-february when Scott sniffs Stiles deeply and frowns.

"Wait… You're going to the swimming-pool now?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. The boy is good-hearted, and will grow up to be a fine alpha, but he needs to pay attention to something else than his girlfriends.

"One point for you Scott! It's only been two weeks."

Stiles drives his point home with little jazz hands. Scott has the good grace to look sheepish. 

"What's up with it?"

"I'm going there for the physical therapy, for my leg."

"Oh…"

Now Scott looks like a kicked puppy. He doesn't like to be reminded of that evening, and of his lack of planning in the attack of the pixie nest.

"Do you need… Is there something I can do to help?"

And that's why, despite his many faults, Scott is Stiles's best friend. Because he cares, deep down.

"Nah dude, I've got it."

Scott smiles and start talking about his last date with Kira, and how they're planning to apply for the same colleges so they might stay together after graduation. Stiles sighs a bit, but rolls with it. Some things never change, but he wouldn't like them to change either…

He grabs his swimming gear in his locker and wonders what Derek has planned for him today.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Stiles grows to like it.

Not that he hated water _per se_ , but the swimming pool had always been associated with classes where everybody leers at the handsome ones, and scoffs at the others. No need to precise he was never part of the first category. Also, flailing and water? Not fun, for anyone. And pool water tastes weird. 

But now... Now it's not so bad. First, there's almost no other teenager around. Just kids with their parents or grandparents. And there's Derek too, who is his personal coach, and who, Stiles is sure, is the sole reason there are always so many women at the pool. He's also, Stiles discovers, a good teacher. He's patient, kind, and expresses himself clearly.

And then, after a while, it's just the effort he likes. He likes the feeling of the water gliding on his body, how his body is getting lighter and faster. Derek correct his movements, shows him how to be efficient, do less to go farther, how to push on the water. Sometimes he'll swim himself, asking Stiles to look at him and find out what Stiles could do better. And Derek, swimming? It's magnificent. It's nothing like when he fights, all anger and violence. It's powerful too, yeah, but in a smooth, and graceful way. It's like Derek is caressing the water. It's a sight to behold, and it makes it hard to focus on the precise movements, to compare how Derek swims to how Stiles thinks he does. 

Derek stops near him, at the narrow end of the swimming pool where they can both stand. His eyebrows say "So?"

"Hmmm... I bend my knees too much. I definitely tread more water, no?"

"Definitely."

It's dry and snarky, but not mean so Stiles doesn't take offense. 

"Well, not everybody can be a weredolphin."

And there! It's a smile playing on the corners of Derek's lips. 

"Come on, your turn Stiles."

 

\---

 

Stiles is making progress.

He still does his warm up under Derek's scrutiny but he's swimming all by himself now, three weeks into the physical therapy. It allows him to come in a bit later, pass by his house to get his gear instead of keeping his stuff in his locker. He even gets to look at part of Derek's class, and it's adorable to see him patiently teach kids to swim. The independence only has one downside: Derek doesn't go into the water so much anymore, supervising from the edge, and in exchange it's the jealous ladies that come and talk to him. One even tried to get Derek's number from him, because she allegedly needed therapy for a broken toe. No need to be a werewolf to see through _that_ lie. 

But Stiles made friends too, ones that are not 5. There's a group of pregnant women who took a liking to him, and they seem to believe there's more going on with Derek than a reluctant friendship. 

"Stiles, he never did physical therapy for anyone before you. Of course the man's got a crush on you."

That's Penelope, 6 months pregnant of her second child. There's a unicorn pooping a rainbow on her swimsuit, so Stiles quickly figured out she was Martha's mom. 

"Well, I guess Derek never had injured friends in need of therapy coming to the swimming pool before."

"Hmmm... Still, the way he looks at you sometimes..."

Stiles can hardly tell her that with his enormous guilt complex, Derek thinks he's somehow responsible of not having killed all the pixies before they got to Stiles, munching on his leg when he tried to kick them. Because pixies are horrible, crawling creatures, the nasty rodents of the supernatural world, and of course the Nemeton brought a nest of them to the Preserve. Derek may not be an alpha anymore but he still feels responsible. 

"Stiles, it's your leg that needs training, not your vocal cords!"

Derek is glaring at them from the kiddie pool, where he is standing surrounded by his class. Martha looks their way and Stiles makes a face at her. He turns to Penelope, suddenly worried about showing a bad example, but she's doing the same. Martha rolls her eyes, an expression she no doubt stole from Derek, and they both burst out laughing before getting back in the line to swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big scene coming next!


	5. Chapter 5

 

Stiles gets addicted to it.

When Scott asks, he says it's the endorphins from the swimming. When Lydia sees right through the lie, he tells her it's feeling good about his body, and not being 'the benchwarmer' anymore.

When he lies down at night, he admits it's also Derek.

Derek, who's pushy but always righteously so, who's also gentles when it's needed. Now that Stiles has seen the werewolf teach his class, he can manfully admit Derek is downright adorable with kids. Sometimes, looking at him, he feels like the moms who are sighing on the bench, telling each other how they wish their husband would be more like him. It never fails to make Derek look embarrassed - though Stiles is the only one who realizes that's what his bunched eyebrows mean. Stiles agrees with the moms, too. Who wouldn't marry the shit out of guy who's not only carved out of marble, but also attentive and kind? And did he mention funny? Sure, he has tons of issues and he's a werewolf, but that can be manageable. 

The more Stiles sees Derek at the swimming-pool, the more he realizes how hard the past years have been on him, what with the supernatural horrors plaguing his life month after month. When he sees him navigate easily between kids and parents, holding several conversations at a time while still checking that no one is drowning or in need of his help, Stiles is reminded of how big his family was, of how he was never meant to be so alone. And trying to deal with loss and the supernatural at once? Not easy, Stiles can vouch for it himself. He can almost forgive him for his terrible decisions.

He's thinking about all that as he swims endless laps. He's doing backstroke at the moment, because it takes less focus and he can let his mind wander. Stiles likes how the sound his muted, how he can get into a rhythm of his own, and just swim for as long as he wants, the pull on his muscles the only thing stopping him. Lacrosse practice never brought him that. Finstock always has them sprinting instead of running, and it's always been painful more than anything else.

"…iles! Stiles!"

Stiles stops swimming and flips in the water. He's at the shallow end of the pool, so he stands. There isn't many people left, the night crowd mostly: younger working people.

"You've been here for three hours. You okay?"

"Err, yeah? I didn't realize."

Derek frowns.

"Come on, get off the water. I'll drive you back home."

Usually, Stiles would drive but the jeep is in the shop, so he's been walking the 30 min back home for the last few days.

"Nah, I'm okay, I'll…"

Stiles gets out of the water, and heaviness settles on him with extra strength for each steps he takes up the ladder. 

"Gravity is a bitch," mumbles Stiles as he waddles to the bench, feeling like a new-born fawn. He tells Derek just that and the werewolf's eyebrows do the worried dance, and he closes the distance between them. He takes a quick look around and puts a hand on Stiles's shoulder, trying to take his pain, but there's barely a twitch in his leg. 

Stiles feebly swats at Derek's arm. 

"I'm just tired dude. And every muscle feels tingly."

Derek passes a hand on his face. 

"Can you get home late?"

Stiles glances at the big mural clock. 

"Yeah. Dad won't be home before midnight. Late shift."

"Ok. Come on Bambi."

And Derek leaves, gesturing for Stiles to follow him. Whatever decision he took, Stiles is not privy to it but he follows nonetheless, thinking how the analogy is strangely accurate, what with Bambi's mom being dead, his absent but loving father, and Scott obviously being the rabbit friend, down to the heart eyes he can't help to make to the girls he falls in love with. But who Derek would be then? 

They enter the lifeguards' office and Derek quietly tells something to the other guy who nods and handles him keys with a little smile and a remark that make Derek's face do the embarrassed thing. 

They get into another room. 

"Hey, Bambi totally gets to be a badass stag at the end of the movie."

Derek's lips quirk:

"Of course you'd actually..."

He finishes is sentence with a vague gesture before handing him a towel but Stiles gets it. His mind is strange. As he dries himself he explains the analogy. 

"…so see? Perfect, down to the hunters and the gallivanting in the forest, except with less skunks but more pixies. The only thing missing is you! As a wolf, you'd totally be after my tender deer flesh. Ok, what now?"

Stiles hands back the towel to Derek and the guy looks like he regrets all of his decisions since he could form thoughts of his own. 

"Lie down."

He gesture to a comfy, spa-looking chair that's sitting there among other training equipments, weights and water stuff. 

Stiles does sit down, but not before snagging back the towel and putting it on the table. His swimming trunks are still wet and that thing looks leathery-like. 

"Maybe you could be the vegetarian wolf with the leather jacket and the tragic past."

Derek rolls his eyes:

"And Malia would be the coyote girlfriend to the fawn?" 

"Dude, we’re not together anymore."

"Oh."

Derek, who has been ruffling the contents of a cabinet, stills. 

"I'm... sorry to hear that."

Stiles snorts unprettily.

"I'm not."

Derek turns toward him, his eyebrows raised in surprised. 

"You're not the only one with the messed up relationships."

"Malia isn't... She's..."

"Derek, don't fight me on that. We lost our virginity together in the basement of a mental institution, while I was possessed by evil and while she was still very blurry on the whole concept of being human."

Something like pity passes by very fast on Derek's face, but then he looks carefully blank. 

"Well," he says. 

A pregnant pause. 

"At least she didn't try to kill you."

Stiles's gaze catches Derek's one and they burst out laughing, short and a bit nervous. Stiles only ever talked about Malia to his psychotherapist, and guesses Derek is the same. 

"Ok, what am I doing here anyway?"

Derek gets back to ruffling the contents of the cabinet. 

"You overexercised. We need to get the toxins your muscles produced out of them if you want to be able to get up tomorrow and not feel like you're 80."

"How do you _know_ that stuff?"

Derek throws a tube at him, that Stiles manages to catch, before walking back to him.

"As a werewolf, I won’t ever be able to professionally do sports as a player. But I was studying to be a physiotherapist specialized in sports."

Stiles is a bit stunned. It’s the first time Derek ever referred to having hopes for the future, and his career plan sounds very solid too. He sounded casual enough explaining, but now, as he gestures for Stiles to sit back and start massaging his leg, he looks a bit stiff. Stiles knows Derek is seeing a psychotherapist. They both are, and they’re visiting the same one too, because psychotherapists aware of the supernatural aren’t legion in Beacon Hill. Actually, there’s only one : Dr Morrell, Deaton’s sister. There has been an awkward moment once, crossing each other in her waiting room. 

Derek moves to Stiles other leg and the young man sighs, sits back, and enjoy. For once, he’s holding his tongue. His first reflex was to ask Derek why he isn't pursuing his dream of becoming a physiotherapist, but he knows the reason. It’s the same one that had him researching online colleges and pushing back leaving for one year: Beacon Hill is still too unstable, their territory needs the full pack there to deal with the shit the Nemeton keeps attracting. 

"Flip," asks Derek. 

He does something to the chair until it’s flat and higher, more like a table, and Stiles turns belly down on the table. Derek squeezes the ointment directly on his back and he shivers, that uncomfortable sensation in his spine that people get when they're about to be touched in a blind spot. Derek must sees it because he immediately settles a hand between his shoulder blades, while he keeps getting ointment on the rest of his back. 

And then… 

Then Stiles goes to Heaven. Because Derek’s wide hands rubbing his back very professionally? It’s not quite as nice as an orgasm, but it lasts way longer. Stiles kind of loses track of time actually, busy melting into the table. He’s zoning out, lost to the world, his ADHD reduced to a thoughtless buzz, when Derek’s voice brings him back to the world of the living, neuron-connected people. 

"You okay?"

Stiles grunts and twists his body to sit up. 

"Man, your hands are magic."

Then Stiles snickers at himself.

"Well, quite literally so. That werewolf pain drawing thingy is awesome, thanks."

Derek frowns. 

"I haven’t… that was just a regular massage and some muscle rub."

"Waaaait… Are you saying good-old-human me could do that?"

Derek just looks at him, his "duh" face on. 

"Would you… would you teach me?"

Now, that’s definitely surprise on the werewolf’s face. 

"Why?" he finally asks. 

Stiles ponders on it for a moment. It was a spur-of-the-moment request, because he’s curious and loves to learn new things. But thinking about it, he likes the idea of being able to make someone feel good, in a non-sexual but intimate, physical way. Malia… It’s been the toughest thing, trying to teach her tenderness. In the end, that's what they failed to give each other, why they broke up. They liked hanging out, yes, and the sex was always nice, but Stiles never felt like they actually were a couple, and not just specially close packmates. 

"I… I don’t want to use my hands only to fight," Stiles answers at last. 

It’s a semi-truth, and Derek sees right through it, with the perceptiveness that comes with being a born werewolf, but only nods. 

"We’ll see," he answers.

Stiles didn't expect he'd seriously consider it, so it's already a small victory. He jumps down the table, smiles wide and bright, and claps the werewolf on the shoulder before leaving the room. Derek drives him back in the Camaro and they listen to a classic rock radio, and Stiles manages to keep quiet by singing whenever a song he knows comes up. He's being obnoxious, but Derek doesn't say anything. Actually, Stiles is pretty sure he sees him mouth some of the lyrics himself. 

 

That night, Derek’s warm hands on his skin is the thought Stiles falls asleep with. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… this story might gets longer than I usually planned, because, suddenly, PLOT.  
> Somehow I feel like these two deserve some slow build-up because, let's face it, at this point in the show they're nowhere close to banging which, yeah, we all want that.  
> Do you mind? I do swear sexy times will come. I mean come on, Derek giving Stiles massage classes? We all know there's only one way this will end…


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles keeps getting better. 

It's not like he has tons of hobbies outside of swimming, so he sometimes goes on the weekends too. Derek's not here but that's ok, swimming has become an ingrained habit by now. If he's honest with himself, he still doesn't love the swimming pool. Too many people throwing water everywhere, elbowing unsuspecting swimmers. Kids yelling, water aerobics classes with crappy music. The water still tastes weird too. But it's relaxing, it's a routine, and it keeps Stiles busy and fit. There isn't much else to do: lacrosse tryouts went on without him, and he's not in the team for the year. It's march already, so all the other sports class around town are full. Running only helps some muscles, and reminds him too much of scrambling for his life through the forest. Going to the gym would be even worse: Stiles hates it more than the swimming pool. Doing nothing is not an option either: he needs the muscle. So he keeps swimming, and he keeps getting better at it. 

There isn't much going on these days, supernaturally speaking, and pack meetings turn into movie nights. Everybody piles on the couch at Scott's or Stiles's, and they argue and vote on what to watch. No one knows Derek and Stiles swim together, and they don't say it either. Why would they make a fuss out of it? And if they interact more than usual, well, no one thinks twice about it. These days, Derek speaks more easily. And everybody is so used to Stiles's obnoxious banter that they don't notice the way Derek responds to it, with a quiet remark or a meaningful eyebrow tilt. 

So time passes, lacrosse season starts and Stiles turns 18. Only Scott, Melissa and his dad know the date, and Stiles don't want to make it something big, because he feels already so much older than that. Two years ago, he was dreaming of being an adult, of going to college. Now, not so much. He just hopes that the peace and quiet will last, and don't want to jinx it by celebrating too soon. So they just have dinner and cake one night, and it feels a bit like they're a family, the four of them around a table.

And Stiles keeps getting better.

It's not just getting better at swimming. After spending so much time thinking about his movements in the water, his coordination outside of it improves too. He gets muscles in places he didn't have any previously: his legs are strong, of course, but so are his abs, his shoulders, his everything really. He'll never look like Derek or Scott, doesn't have the skeleton nor the supernatural genes to grow that much muscle mass, but he's getting an athlete's body, lithe and toned. His loose t-shirts are now tight, but he's too lazy to buy bigger ones, and so what?

People notice, though.

The first time two girls look at him, he looks back, wondering if he has something on his face, but then they're kinda eying other parts of him, and giggling, and blushing when their eyes meet and Stiles barely refrains from turning around to look behind him, because he knows he was alone in the hallway.

Eventually, he accepts it for what it is, and the ego boost is nice, for a change. He's in control of his body like he's never been before, and it feels good, it feels like the extreme opposite of the Nogitsune.

So Stiles? Stiles goes to the swimming pool and keeps getting better.

Until one day Derek tells him they're done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming soon, because I hate cliffhangers myself but couldn't resist writing this one ;)


	7. Chapter 7

"Done? What do you mean done?"

Stiles absently notes that it's probably how it feels to get dumped. Not that he would know from previous experience, of course... He guesses the parking lot of the Beacon Hill Municipal Swimming Pool is as good a place as any else for a first of this kind. 

"Stiles, you've recovered. You even swim in the fast line."

Oh! Done with the therapy… Stiles preens a little, because that's something he's pretty proud of it, and only Derek can measure how awesome it is. He deflates though, thinking about how he won't have an excuse anymore to hang out with Derek. 

"But the therapy was three months?"

"Well, maybe you had a particularly good trainer..."

And it's Derek's turn to preen a little, in a way that's only obvious to Stiles, who's seen it before when a kid in his class masters a new move thanks to him. 

"I did. But... I don't want to stop coming at swimming pool. It kind of grew on me." 

Half truths, Stiles thinks, it shouldn't make his heart blip. But Derek raises a dubious eyebrow. 

"Stiles. There has not been a day you didn't complain about your fingers being pruned, your eyes dry, people elbowing you or catching verruca."

So, ok, maybe Stiles has been a little shit. And he hates the swimming pool. He just really likes Derek. 

"Well... I guess I'll just... go then. Thanks for... Thanks for helping me."

Before he can second guess himself, Stiles hugs Derek, a full body, tight hug that he holds until Derek returns it. 

Then he lets go and turn to leave. He's a few steps toward his car when Derek calls him:

"Stiles!"

He looks hesitant, a bit lost too. 

"Are you... Are you going to play lacrosse again?"

Stiles shrugs:

"The season started without me."

"Oh."

Derek makes a sad face. Stiles doesn't like it.

"But I want to look into… self defense classes," he improvises. "You know, so I'm ready next time shit hits the fan."

Derek smiles, tentative, this small shy curl of his lips Stiles grew to love. 

"Need a teacher?"

"You would? Teach me?"

Derek's smile gets bigger. 

"7 o'clock tomorrow?"

That's when Derek gets out of work. 

"You won't be tired?"

Derek's eyebrows make his "duh" face and he flashes his eyes at him for good measure. 

"Good to know you have stamina... Tomorrow then."

And is that the faintest trace of a blush at the top of Derek Hale's ears? Yes, yes it is. And Stiles put it there! 

And if Stiles grins like an idiot all the drive back home, he's the only one to know why.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know, because I got an idea for a cool little coda for my previous fic, In the Undead of the Night ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo! 
> 
> There is so many directions this fic could go… It's hard to choose! BUT, Sterek is coming, with drama, making-out, and other gross exchanges of bodily fluids. Yes, the E rating will be met, in time.

They have their first illicit affair the next evening.

Well, maybe Stiles is projecting a little bit when he qualifies it as an "illicit affair." It's just that they are both more comfortable not telling anyone what's up, and since no one is asking either, well, all is good. Stiles doesn't want Scott to make it a big deal, or worse, actually try and invites himself into their one-on-one time. Ok, now Stiles is definitely thinking about a lot more than just learning how to fight, and he's hoping he won't pop a boner every time Derek touches him. He's had good training with the swimming pool, but the meddling kids and the general chlorine-scented atmosphere was for a lot in his control. Not sure he'll manage to stay as uninterested when Derek starts shoving him into surface in private. 

So he's a bit anxious when they meet for the first time, at the old Hale house. The birds are singing, and Derek's late so Stiles starfishes in the grass an listens to them, watches the life of the forest go, unperturbed.

Then there's 180 pounds or so of werewolf sitting on top of him.

"Gurrg arrr?!"

Derek chuckles. 

"I think we'll need to work on your awareness. I'll add it to the list."

Derek rolls off him and sits in one gracious move. Stiles sits up too, still wheezing. 

"The list?" 

"Yeah. Morrell helped me come up with a training plan." 

Stiles nods but says nothing. It's the first time either of them acknowledged to even know her. It's a bit weird for Stiles to think that Derek probably talks about him to Morrell. Stiles himself definitely has talked a lot about Derek to Morrell, because he's been quite prominent in his life lately. It's only now that he realizes that it is very surely Derek's case too, and that he doesn't have a mysterious adult's life outside of them. His last attempts at that (Jennifer and Braeden) hadn't turned out so well, though at least Braeden hadn't been an evil bitch about it, had just disappeared one morning. 

"So... You're ready?" 

Stiles snaps out of his head. His face must show how he hasn't been listening because Derek rolls his eyes and huffs. 

"Get up." 

They both do. 

"Now let's run."

"But..."

"The fighting comes after."

Stiles had a feeling Derek has been explaining all of that as he was spacing out, so he says nothing and follows Derek. They run for a little while, and Stiles finds he doesn't mind it when he has Derek by his side. It's hard to feel unsafe with a werewolf in close proximity, and Stiles smiles to himself: what has his life become that this thought even makes sense? They then do the same warm-up than at the swimming pool before Derek finally has him try and deflect attacks. The werewolf is always perfectly in control, barely grazing his skin when Stiles misses, and Stiles ends up not wanting to deflect that much, the fleeting whispers of touch feeling overly too nice and absolutely not enough at the same time. 

"Stiles, focus."

Derek's voice is neutral, almost too much, and Stiles feels shame flaring. Derek really doesn't need more people objectifying him, and playing games. Whenever someone would ogle him at the swimming pool or flirt with him, it would piss him off. 

So Stiles breathes in, and out, and focuses. Morrell has been teaching him a few meditation exercises, so he can kill panic attacks in the bud in stressful situations. It works perfectly fine for arousal as well, it turns out. 

 

\---

 

The exercises are very simple at first. For the first few days, Stiles is even bored to say the truth. It's repetitive: he's doing the exact same movements until they become reflexes, until they are sharp and precise. Derek has him target trees until he can stop millimeters from a leaf without actually touching it. He has him rolling left, right and center to avoid flying objects (ping-pong balls _hurt_ ) or to lessen the impact when jumping from a height. There's parkour going on too, using the ruins of the Hale house and the relief of the forest ground. There's also a lot of regular workout exercises so Stiles will built straight up strength. Stiles settles into the new routine and only his Dad knows what he gets up to every night. Scott asks why he doesn't smell like the swimming pool anymore, and Stiles truthfully answers that his therapy's done. The alpha and the other guys in the pack are busy with the lacrosse season so they don't hang out as much, and a good shower after his training session with Derek is apparently enough that no scent of his lingers on him. It's not like they touch that much either, and Stiles can't help being a bit disappointed by that. Most of the time, Derek has him training in the air, against trees, or the point of the exercise precisely is not to dodge Derek's attacks. Stiles was expecting a bit more… _hand on hand_ contact.

When he says so by the beginning of the second week of training, a smile tugs at the corner of Derek's lips.

"I've been waiting for that question. You were more patient than I thought you'd be."

And is that a compliment? That's definitely a compliment. Stiles feels himself flush.

"So… What's next?"

"I attack, you try to fight back."

"Errr…" 

Stiles barely has the time to jump to the right as Derek attacks, thankfully not shifted. Stiles manages to dodge the next attack too before he looses his footing, only avoiding a fall thanks to Derek, who roughly grabs his t-shirt. Stiles is barely stable when Derek lets him go, steps back and says:

"Again."

 

\---

 

One hour later finds Stiles immensely frustrated at himself. Despite his growing strength and his increasing coordination, he only manages to deflect and escape Derek's attacks at best. His few tries at fighting back were completely useless, and Derek easily caught him. Derek seems frustrated too, because every time Stiles has asked what he should do, he's been unable to answer. Finally they let themselves fall unto the grass, Stiles winded and drenched while Derek is breathing normally, his forehead barely beading with sweat. 

"Well. I don't feel like I made any progress."

Derek grunts, and Stiles waits him out, because he wants him to acknowledge that their training isn't working. 

"I've never trained humans before." finally admits the werewolf. 

"Not even…" Stiles thinks about the humans in Derek's pack, the ones Derek helped with their injuries. He doesn't finish his sentence, doesn't know how to, but Derek must guess it, because he huffs, almost a laugh. 

"My cousins liked long-distance weapons better. Bows, knifes, guns."

"Makes sense. You could teach me?"

Derek nods. "That I would know how to."

"Just… Not the bow."

Derek doesn't ask why, because they both know the answer. Stiles's heart feels like it's being squeezed, but he breathes in and out, deep and steady, like Morrell told him, and waits for it to pass, for the memory of a fierce brunet to fade back to the corner of his brain that will always hold dark things. Derek looks like he wants to reach out, fingers twitching on his leg, but nothing happens. 

"Can your Dad get you a gun?" 

"Maybe. What about knives?"

"Deaton?"

"We can try."

That's how they end up at the clinic. Scott is still at school, playing lacrosse, but if Deaton is surprised to see Stiles stroll in, followed by Derek, he doesn't show it. Stiles explain about trying to get some fighting skills, and Deaton nods. 

"It might indeed come in helpful. I might have something for you."

He opens the counter and they follow him in his office, where he gets one of several wooden boxes from the top of a bookcase otherwise filled with neat binders of his patients files, the green ones reading "dogs" and the blue ones "cats." There are a few purple ones for "others" and Stiles laughs to himself quietly, wondering if maybe the pack has their own file in there. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him but Stiles makes a vague gesture and he lets it go. Deaton delicately swipes the dust on top of the box with his sleeve and opens it. The knives look like antiques, the blade a dull silver with reddish spots, maybe rust. The handles is covered with bands of leather that have taken the shape of their previous owners' hands, faded in places. Stiles reaches out, takes one delicately, turning it between his long fingers. The weight is comforting, not too heavy, not too light, easy to manipulate. The handle is soft in his palm, his hand fitting perfectly in the imprint. He wonders how many hours of contact, how many owners it took to make the leather that soft. He wonders if they all had hands the same size as his own, for it to fit so well. He looks at the blade more closely, and notices runes engraved on it. 

"A spell?" he asks Deaton.

The man smiles lightly. 

"These are merely good-luck runes. I can, however, provide you with poisons you can coat the blade with. But I advise you to get used to them first, and to train with wooden equivalents."

Stiles nods. "You wouldn't happen to have training knives, would you?" 

"I am afraid not. I suggest a visit to Chris Argent."

The thought isn't too appealing, but Stiles has to admit Deaton is right. Also, if there is someone in town who will be able to help training him, it's Chris Argent. And the poor man could maybe use the company. Stiles looks up to Derek, who's standing a bit stiffly, but resigned, having reached the same conclusion. 

So they go to Chris Argent's house, after Derek called him to ask if it is ok. When they explain the whole Stiles-in-training thing, Chris not only gets the training knives for Stiles (and he suspects by the way he carefully hands them that they might have been Allison's), but also suggests to train Stiles in the areas Derek can't. It's a bit surprising, and it must show on Stiles's face, because Chris says, looking weary:

"You won't stop getting into trouble along with the rest of your friends." He points to Stiles's leg, where they know the scar is still new and pink under his jeans. "So when trouble comes, I want you to have a fighting chance." 

He doesn't say "You're all I've left of my daughter, you have the body that killed her." but Stiles hears it though, in the bitterness of his tone. He thinks maybe Morrell should take on a third client, but only nods. Contrary to popular belief, he _can_  shut his mouth from time to time. 

 

\---

 

That's how Stiles ends up training three nights a week with both Derek and Chris, and two nights a week with just Derek. If he's honest with himself, he likes the just-Derek nights best, because Derek talks more then, and will come up with goofy exercises like having Stiles catch candy with his mouth, because he knows Stiles gets easily bored. But it's true Stiles progresses more when training with Chris. The guy knows his shit, ok, and Stiles is impressed that a 40 years-old dude can still pull off some serious martial art moves that have even Derek on his ass (literally). 

They discover Stiles is horrible with guns, Chris's weapon of choice, but strangely agile with the knives. Stiles likes to think it's the many hours twirling pens between his fingers when bored in class. Anyway, three weeks later, by the end of the month, he's starting to feel a lot more confident in his chances against pixies next time. He's reached an equilibrium too, one he is comfortable, happy with, even. He trains hard during the week, discuss his progress with his dad over dinner, hangs out with Scott and the pack on the weekends. Sometimes, Stiles even drags both Chris and Derek to his house for dinner, so his dad has someone else than him to talk to about supernatural shit, and so Chris can stop being so sad all the time. 

At night, sometimes, Stiles will think about Derek, about how with the summer approaching fast he's been wearing less and less tshirts during training and how Stiles had forgotten how Derek's body could make his own sing. At least, during trainings there's Chris to kill the thoughts in his head and the warmth in his belly. And if, in the shower, Stiles ends up coming to the memory of pale eyes, dark stubble and dry humor, no one else knows. 

 

Well, he _thinks_  no one else knows. He thinks he has everything under control: his training, his feelings, his libido.

 

Turns out, not so much. 


	9. Chapter 9

His hellish day of doom begins on Friday with PE.  
  
April has come around, and the temperature now allows Finstock to have them use the swimming pool. The weirdness starts in the locker room, when he changes and gets a low appreciative whistle from Ethan, of all people. He turns around, surprised, swimming trunks on. Danny has followed Ethan's gaze and is looking at him, jaw slack.  
"Damn, Stilinski, you made good use of your time off." he says.  
"So I guess I am attractive to gay guys heh." jokes Stiles.  
And then both Ethan and Danny exchange a look that has Danny flushing and Ethan leering back at Stiles.  
"Ohmygod I'm not doing a threesome with you guys."  
Stiles was aiming for a joke but he knows it hit the spot when Danny blushes harder and Ethan looks disappointed.  
It's so awkward he flees out of the locker room and to the swimming pool, but he's welcomed by Scott's blush and curious eyes, because of course he's heard everything.  
"Damn, they're right Stiles, what have you been up to?"  
"Physical therapy..." mumbles Stiles before escaping toward Kira and Lydia. The girls eye him up and down, but don't seem surprised by what they are saying.  
Soon the class begins. Coach walks in, has them line at the deep end.  
"Ok everybody. You're going to be diving, then swim all the way to there and back, so I can time you once and divide you by groups. Diles, you and your flailing are first."  
Stiles rolls his eyes and steps forward. That's his time to shine. He steps on the diving platform, takes a deep breath, and makes the most perfect dive before swimming the fastest he knows in butterfly stroke, because he's not above showing off.  
He's back at the start in a minute flat and smoothly pulls himself out of the water, forgoing the ladder, in a move he learnt from Derek and has practiced countless times. The whole class looks at him like he's possessed again, and Stiles is starting to get nervous, but Scott, bless his heart, gives him a thumbs up and not so discreetly whispers "awesome," before offering his palm for a high five.  
  
\---  
  
Next in his day is training with Derek and Chris. He's a bit tired after PE, but Chris deems it the perfect occasion to have him up against Derek.  
"Stiles, in real life fights usually happen after hours of traipsing through the woods, or as a last option after trying to run, or after several all-nighters." he says sternly, and Stiles hates that the man is right.  
So he grabs the wooden training knifes and steps toward Derek, who gets in a fighting stance, lower to the ground, but doesn't shift. Derek is more than a worthy opponent, even when fully human shaped. They exchange a few blows, Stiles ducks and avoid a few swipe of fingers he knows could be clawed. Derek is the one imposing a rhythm to the fight, and Stiles can't have that. He tries a bold move that gets him thrown to the ground.  
"Again." says Chris, but his tone is appreciative.  
So Stiles tries again.  
And again.  
And again.  
He gets into the dance, starts leading it. Manages to tire Derek, just the tiniest bit, and the next time the werewolf takes a long breath, panting a bit, Stiles is on him, hooking a foot behind his ankle when Derek tries to step back. Stiles follows his fall, knees on the werewolf's wrists, armed hand aimed at his throat while he braces himself on Derek's ribs with the other.  
He doesn't know what reaction he expects from the werewolf but it's certainly not a full body shiver and an obviously uncontrollable giggle. Stiles is so surprised he drops the knife, his hand mirroring the first one on Derek's other side. There is a second shiver, followed by Derek biting his lip not to giggle.  
"Derek Hale, are you ticklish?!"  
Even Stiles can hear the pleased surprise in his own voice. He immediately puts his long agile fingers to work, and tickles the shit out of the werewolf, who manages to hold it in for a grand total of five second before bursting out laughing. It is quite magnificent, seeing Derek wriggle on the forest floor, trying to escape Stiles's hands. Derek finally manages to push Stiles off himself the second the boy relents. But instead of rolling away, he dives right after Stiles, pining him to the ground, and giving him a taste of his own medicine. Stiles retaliates, of course, and benefits from being a whole lot less ticklish than Derek. They roll around in the grass, dirt flying everywhere, elbows getting knocked, rough in their playfulness but Stiles likes it too much to stop it. He's been starving for Derek's touch, and now he has it, even if not exactly as he had dreamed it. And it feels like maybe, just maybe, Derek has been waiting on a similar occasion, because he doesn't take any of the opportunities to break it either.  
In the end, it's Chris who calls them back to attention by throwing the content of a water bottle at them, like he's breaking a dog fight. The analogy is not lost to Derek, who huffs and puffs as they stand up. Stiles has never been so glad that Chris isn't a werewolf, because his pheromones must broadcast his arousal to the whole clearing. He's not sure it doesn't show on his face anyway, because Chris has this look in his eyes, slightly pissed but resigned, that he used to get watching Scott and Allison making eyes at each other. And well, isn't that a boner-kill. Derek is the one who speaks first, saying he has to go and get ready for pack night.  
He gets off running, and when Chris looks like he wants to say something, Stiles bolts as well. He's afraid he knows what the man wants to say: Derek is too damaged, too dangerous, too old. Like Stiles isn't already damaged, in over his head in supernatural shenanigans, and feeling older than his years.  
Still, the unsaid rings in ears and has his stomach churns as he gets back home for a quick shower before pack meet.  
  
\---

  
From there, it's downhill.  
The pack is giving him shit via text for getting all ripped, because of course the ones that weren't at PE have been told, and he's still hearing about it when he picks up Kira and arrive at Derek's loft for the monthly pack meeting. They let themselves in, and Malia is already there, lounging on the couch with Liam doing homework next to her. They both turn to him and Stiles knows they will talk about his abs, or his thighs or his arms, so he dives into the kitchen, were Derek is putting pizzas in the oven. There are mixing bowls and flour on the counter.  
"Dude, are these homemade?!"  
Derek shrugs: "Your dad made it seem easy."  
Stiles laughs: "The dough was pre-made, man, he just put stuff on them."  
There is a betrayed look in Derek's eyes and Stiles chuckles softly. "I'm sure yours will be better" he says, before clasping Derek on the back, grabbing a pile of glasses and moving back to the living-room.  
He's passing around the glasses when he catches Scott's wondering gaze. He raises an eyebrow in a silent question, but Scott minutely moves his head in a "no" gesture, indicating that they do have something to talk about, but not right now. Stiles realizes he probably heard the conversation between Derek and him. Oh well, it's probably about time he tells Scott about his training, and about how lonely Derek and Chris are. As their Alpha, he should have realized sooner, and been the one taking care of that.  
So Stiles finishes giving everybody a glass, grabs the bottle of coke for himself, and plops in an armchair. Lydia and Danny are debating about the movie tonight while their boyfriends wear identical looks of bored fondness, and Stiles jumps into the fray.  
"What about Star Wars, huh? Scott still hasn't seen it."  
Malia and Liam seem interested enough, Malia because she hasn't seen it and Liam because he has good taste and doesn't mind seeing it again. The twins are indifferent too, but last month they forced a Lord of the Rings marathon, long version, on the pack so they eventually agree. Lydia is still putting up a fight when Derek comes back from the kitchen, and she turns to her last potential ally.  
"Derek, please tell Stiles that Star Wars is horrible and that we should watch The Notebook instead."  
The corner of Derek's mouth quivers and Stiles feels himself smile as a response.  
"I hate The Notebook."  
Stiles fist pump the air to celebrate his victory as Lydia grumbles something that has Derek's back get stiff while the twins, who are sitting closest to her, snort. Stiles wants to ask what she said, but he's too afraid of the answer to actually do it. Instead he busies himself with pulling up A New Hope on the tv, in its non-remastered version. He'll take the puppets over the bad over-layered CGI everyday.  
He's selecting the right sound options (Derek got a pretty rad sound system), when a fight breaks out opposite to his chair, where Derek sat on the couch next to Scott, who's trying to reach for the M&Ms the older werewolf is holding.  
"Come on Derek, that's the last blue one, it's my favorite."  
Stiles jumps in "Since when blue is your favorite, bro, it's always been mine?"  
Scott pouts at him and is opening his mouth to answer when Derek and Stiles eyes meet. Derek smiles, wolfish, and throws the blue M&M. Out of sheer reflex, Stiles's eyes track the candy and he catches it in his mouth. He's smugly chewing on it, eyes on Derek, knowing the werewolf is not one to back down from a challenge. Derek repeats the gesture once, twice, thrice, each throw faster than the last, and Stiles still catches the candies. They only stop when Stiles's has to pause to chew through the half-dozen M&Ms he caught.  
Then the utter silence, only perturbed by the looping music of the dvd menu, catches back to them.  
"What the heck?" finally says Scott.  
Stiles shrugs and swallows. The cat is out of the bag, it seems.  
"We've been training" he says.  
"Why would you train catching M&Ms?" wonders Kira aloud, and God, these two found each other.  
"Derek's been teaching me self-defense stuff" explains Stiles.  
Lydia's eyes narrow on him. "Why Derek. Aren't Chris or Deaton better suited for that?"  
Damn her and her cleverness.  
"Chris is teaching him too" grunts Derek.  
"But why didn't you say anything? We could've helped!"  
Damn Scott and his puppy eyes.  
"Scotty, bro, you're all busy with lacrosse."  
"So, that's how you got…" Danny is gesturing all over his own body, and his boyfriend has this light again in his eyes.  
"Oy, guys, stop it with the leering again."  
"But you look all grown-up now" whines Ethan.  
Damn the only gay couple and their innuendos, because Stiles is feeling himself flush.  
A growl startles everyone and they all turn to Derek. Who suddenly looks like a deer in headlights. Then Scott takes one breath in and makes a face that has all the werewolf breathe in too. Surprise and mischievous glee bloom on their faces and Stiles is still trying to puzzle it out when Lydia points a finger toward Derek "I knew it!" she accuses and the werewolf turns a shade of red that's unparalleled. He's looking at his hands, resting on his knees, like he wants to hide behind them.  
"What…" Stiles begins, but Scott interrupts him.  
"Stiles, why didn't you tell me you're going out with Derek? Am I not your best friend anymore?" The idiot even looks genuinely distressed.  
"What... I... No!" Stiles flails helplessly. "We're not together."  
Now it's confusion that he's faced with.  
"But..." starts Scott.  
"We. Are. Not. Together." Derek is full on growling each word, voice harsh. "Now let's watch the damn movie."  
The rest of the night is... Well, awkward is one way to put it. Excruciatingly freaking awkward as hell is another, maybe more appropriate. Stiles keeps replaying the earlier events in his head, and it's only the combination of his favorite movie, taking care of food runs to the kitchen and incessant fretting that keeps him from imploding. Even with so many things to distract him, he keeps coming back to Derek's first growl, when he reacted to Ethan's and Danny's newfound appreciation of Stiles's body. And what had Derek smelled like that had him get so embarrassed? Stiles prides himself on having a pretty well wired brain, and the only logical conclusion is that not only Derek wants a piece of his ass, but that he's also very possessive of it. So what? Derek is into him?! That seems ludicrous. First, he seems a lot more inclined toward older women that can hurt him, and second, even if he likes guys he could do so much better than Stiles. On screen, Luke has this lost puppy look on his face, and how had Stiles never realized Scott totally is Luke? Though Darth Vader is definitely Peter's levels of creepy, and that would make Derek Luke. Huh. Derek, who may be into him. Yeah okay, the new muscles are nice, and young school girls giggle when they look at him. But he's still the flailing, ADHD guy who won't miss one occasion to show he has a brain and knows what sarcasm is. And Derek had never shown any interest in that before. So it must be something else. Maybe some misplaced Pygmalion complex. Or Derek is just afraid he'll end up not having someone to hang out with anymore if Stiles starts having sex. Because he thinks Stiles will pick sex over training. Well, he's probably right on that one, actually, not that he's seriously considering Ethan and Danny's offer, because those too are just looking for a third wheel, and Stiles wants romantic shit to happen to him. And a threesome as his first foray into gay sex? Too much. He wants dates before, flowers, lots of lube and someone who takes care of him, and of him only. Ok, and now he's picturing Derek, naked, on a bed covered in rose petals. Very American Beauty, very hot, and not at all fitting for pack night. Luke is training with Yoda right now, come on, Stiles, focus, they even went on to the second movie without him paying attention. Not even Han Solo can take his mind off the clusterfuck of thoughts brewing in his head. And what about that tickling match before? They totally had had a moment, no, before Chris interrupted? Or maybe it was just Derek having fun. Scott has been extra tactile ever since he turned, so maybe that's just standard werewolf behavior. Anyway, Stiles would totally be Han Solo, in any version of a Star Wars alternate reality. Because snark, he's got it. That would make Scott Chewbacca? Ha! He must snort aloud because Liam throws him a worried glance. Stiles wonders what vibes he's broadcasting right now in his scent. He gets up and decide it's time for a third kitchen run, even if the second round of pizza is probably not cooked yet. He can grab more drinks or snacks.  
Stiles is ruffling through Derek's cupboards when Scott slips in the kitchen.  
"You okay, Stiles?"  
Stiles sighs and doesn't bother saying yes. Scott would hear the lie.  
"I don't know, man, there aren't any Doritos left."  
Scott, smiles, fond, and waits Stiles out, because he knows him well. Hopefully, the TV will be loud enough if they whisper. So Stiles steps closer to Scott and murmurs: "What did Derek smell like, earlier?"  
Scott scrunches his nose, like it will help him remember.  
"Well, like anger. And then embarrassment. But the growl, that's like, a possessive, don't touch what's mine kind of thing."  
"But... I swear we are not... Anything."  
Scott raises and eyebrow on a move he most definitely got from Derek and Stiles wants to laugh, but holds it.  
"But you want to."  
It's not a question but Stiles nods anyway.  
"Seems to me like you're at least good friends. Since when have you been hanging out together?"  
"Errr... January?"  
The sad puppy eyes are back and Stiles is ashamed, ready to babble excuses, but Scott speaks before he can: "And neither of you said anything. You both wanted to keep it secret. That's gotta mean something."  
Damn Scott, getting all clever and perceptive.  
"Well I..." Stiles steps even closer and murmurs very low: "I like him. But he never... hinted at anything" He thinks back to the tickling, and adds: "Not really."  
Scott narrows his eyes, and Stiles knows they'll have to have a long chat at some point, but it's not the moment, and Stiles tells him so. They are both pensive for a while. Finally, Scott says:  
"Does he know you're 18?"  
And THAT. That could be the missing piece. "Duuude, I never told the pack."  
"Yeah, and with..." Scott makes a vague gesture that encompasses all the wrong Kate-shaped events in Derek's life. The trust and innocence in teenage Derek's eyes is not something Stiles will ever forget.  
"Scott, buddy." Stiles hugs his friend. "I'm proud of you."  
Scott huffs. "Now stop projecting your anguish everywhere and let's watch the movie."  
"Word of the day, Scotty, good joooob." Stiles is ruffling Scott's hair, and it looks like it's going to turn into a friendly kitchen brawl, when Derek steps in, eyebrow quirked in a silent question. "Are you baking those snacks from scratch?"  
"Oh, look, they're here!" Scott grabs the bag of crisps Stiles left on the counter and makes a beeline for the living-room. Stiles is left frozen on the spot, and maybe he's panicking a bit. A lot. He takes a few deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Ok, now he's thinking about Derek fucking into him from behind, slow and deep, while Stiles whimpers in the bed sheets. Oh god, why does his mind work this way?  
"You ok?"  
Stiles takes one more calming breath. "Yeah, yeah... I just. I've been informed you don't know I turned 18."  
Derek's face remain neutral: "And?"  
The disappointment is horrible. Yeah, Stiles wasn't hoping for a make-out session right that instant, because he's not in a movie, damn it, but Derek's indifference was definitely not it.  
"And... And I missed out on gifts from the pack, I guess."  
"And so you panicked."  
Now there's teasing in Derek's voice, a quiver at the corner of his lips that tell Stiles he's trying not to smile. And Stiles realizes he learned how to read every eyebrow expression, every almost smile, every posture, because he always pays so much damn attention to the werewolf, and not just in the ogling kind of way.  
  
Stiles is pissed suddenly. Whatever the pack, Scott and Stiles think, it's not what's up with Derek. No one knows what's up with Derek, maybe not even the guy himself. And Stiles is angry, not at Derek, but at his own heart, because he fell for the werewolf, for the too-hot, too-dangerous, too-nice Derek.  
  
God, Stiles is in love?  
Stiles is in love.  
  
Stiles is in love with Derek, and the guy sees him as what: a friend? A pack mate? Stiles's heart starts beating like it is trying to get out of his chest, and Derek looks concerned, no doubt hearing it.  
"Stiles…" Derek is reaching out, and Stiles can't take it.  
"You know what? Fuck you" Stiles snaps, before storming out.  
He's freaking out, ok? And there's no way he's doing that with the pack around. There's a flash of hurt on Derek's face, and then Stiles doesn't see it anymore, because he's leaving, grabbing his backpack, running down the stairs, getting out, out, out, and it hurts. As he starts the jeep and drives back home, heart and hands shaky, he tries to reason with himself, convince himself that it's just a passing fancy, that he'll grow out of it. See, he managed to get over Lydia, and he's been in love with her for forever. He'll stop caring for Derek too, in time. He'll keep training with him, will stop interpreting each gesture the werewolf makes as a come on and will maybe even be content with being friends. 

Stiles still wants to cry when he parks the car outside his house.

  
Stiles's dad is thankfully still at the station, so Stiles is free to grab ice-cream in the freezer (hidden under the frozen broccolis) and to throw himself on his bed like the drama queen he is. He barely has the time to swallow a few spoonfuls before his phone rings. It's Lydia. And Lydia wont take kindly to him not answering. He doesn't want her to stage an intervention, nor to break down his door. So he sighs, and answers: "Lydia, love of…"  
"Cut the crap, Stilinski."  
Ouch, that's a bad start.  
"I'm at your door in 5, you better be dressed and not wallowing."  
Stiles looks at the ice cream in his lap and sighs.  
"You like chocolate chip and vanilla ice cream?"  
Lydia tuts. "No wallowing. But I'll have a taste."  
Five minutes later, Stiles is awkwardly sitting on his couch, next to Lydia who seems perfectly at ease eating ice cream right out of the tub.  
"Soooo… What's up?" he asks after the silence has being going on for way too long for comfort.  
"You know exactly what's up."  
"Errr... I'm being an idiot again by having an unattainable crush?"  
"Wrong."  
Lydia's face gets a bit soft, and that's probably the most frightening thing Stiles ever seen her do. Or close second to her crying.  
"You know Stiles, for someone who actually has half a functioning brain, you're oddly dense at times."  
"Hmm, ok?"  
"See," continues Lydia, "I've been watching out for the pack in the past months, because Scott isn't too good yet at caring when there isn't danger around."  
Stiles nods, because it's very true. And though he never thought Lydia had a nurturing fiber in her body, he can't deny she's invested in pack business.  
"And I kept an eye out for Derek in particular, because he's the loneliest of us all. Lonely enough to get the banshee in me agitated."  
And that... That's freaking horrible, and Stiles sits there for a while, silent, because it means Derek, after going through all he has and always fighting teeth and nails - literally - considered suicide once things got quieter. Lydia must read the shock on Stiles's face because she looks sad.  
"I'm guessing that once the survival instinct stopped kicking in, the human side of him had too much time to think."  
That something Stiles can absolutely relate to, and he sees that pain reflected on Lydia's face before she brushes it off with a flick of her hair and starts again:  
"So I pushed him until he got a job."  
Stiles remembers the arguments at pack nights, how Lydia had said a grown man shouldn't rely on insurance money and actually move his ass. At the time, he had thought she was doing it just to annoy him.  
"So one day he told me he had gotten a job at the swimming pool. A bit surprising but we don't really know him, do we?"  
Again, with the painful truths. No one had ever cared to ask Derek what he wanted to do with his life, if he had dreams that had survived the chaos.  
"And then you got hurt. And you needed physical therapy. I suggested swimming."  
Oh Lord. Now the she says it, Stiles remembers that day at Deaton's, when Melissa took the stitches out of his leg. How it's Lydia who suggested swimming, and how both the vet and the nurse had agreed.  
"So what, you've been playing matchmaker?"  
"Well... I was aiming for tentative friends. But lovers isn't so bad, no?" Lydia looks very smug and Stiles can't help the bitterness that surges in his next words.  
" Except I'm the only one in love and Derek probably won't want to do anything with me when he'll know."  
His words catch back to him and he gasps but there's no taking it back. And now Lydia looks pissed. She cuffs him on the back of the head and he yelps.  
"Goddammit, you're cleverer than that Stiles!"  
The boy doesn't dare move an inch. That's the Lydia he knows, but she's still terrifying.  
"Do I really have to explain everything?!"  
Stiles nods, a tiny nod, and she simultaneously rolls her eyes and sighs. Really, it's eerie, how these expressions have spread to the whole pack. Soon, Malia will be using sarcasm.  
"Derek worked at the swimming pool, but I still got those bad vibes, if less often. Until you started going there. Then the vibes stopped altogether. And I have eyes, Stiles, even if I seem to be the only one using them. You've both started looking happier. The way you snark at each other changed. And don't get me started on how you look at each other."  
"How we look at each other?!"  
Stiles is pretty sure he's hasn't made any heart eyes at Derek: he only realized the depth of his feelings tonight. Also, Scott's the one who moons after people.  
"Stiles, you look at him like he's a particularly crispy curly fry."  
There's no judgment in Lydia's voice, but a tad bit of mirth.  
"But, but… Lydia, have you seen him?"  
"I'll grant you he has a fine ass. But you don't see me lusting after him, do you?"  
Stiles grumbles but concedes the point. It's true that the whole pack is made of unnervingly handsome guys and gals, and Derek is the only one who makes heat bloom in his guts.  
"Well, anyway, I already admitted to liking him" he mumbles.  
"The point is, he looks at you too. Not as... blatantly interested, but definitely interested. And sometimes, he starts reaching for you, to help or just touch, and stops himself at the last moment."  
Stiles thinks on it for a while. He can't say he noticed it, but he trusts Lydia, and he has other proofs hinting at it. A whole tickle match of proofs.  
"But he never goes for it. Never touches me, even if he's interested. Why?"  
Stiles doesn't care if he whines by then. There's so many possible answer to that question.  
"Who knows what's brewing in that head of his. But I know he's close to snapping. You're new muscles made it worse."  
"I know, I'm so ho... Wait, wait, wait, he wanted me before I started training with him?"  
"I began noticing it sometime last summer."  
Stiles is floored. Derek wanted him already when he was his old scrawny self. He must be grinning, because Lydia huffs.  
"Yes Stiles, Derek is also after your personality."  
"Hey, I'd have you know that..."  
"Not the point, Stiles. You're what you are, and Derek digs it."  
"True. So now what?"  
"We make him snap. We make you so damn delicious and appealing he won't be able to keep himself from reaching the rest of the way."  
Lydia has a smile on that's usually paired with Molotov Cocktails, and it gets bigger when she sees the fear it elicits in Stiles when he shakily says: "And... You have a plan."  
It's not a question but Lydia confirms: "I have a plan, and you'll hate it. There isn't any plaid in it."  
  
The rest of the night is dark, and full of terrors. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thanks for commenting on the last chapter! It warms my heart to read your thoughts on this fic, and keeps me motivated to write :)   
> So here, have some dance floor action… 
> 
> *cackles evilly and leaves*

It's Saturday night, and they are all old enough, except Liam, to go dancing at the Jungle. It's not really Stiles's scene, and his flailing doesn't go well with dancing, but Lydia made it so that even Derek would come, and that's plan A of the Making Derek Crack Plan. Stiles isn't sure how wiggling his butt out of rhythm is supposed to do that, because it usually makes him look ridiculous. But Lydia recruited Kira and Malia to teach him to dance, and they then all went shopping. Stiles has to admit: girly hangouts are a lot of fun.  

Now he's standing in line to get into Jungle, trying to walk normally in jeans that are so tight he starts to understand why Derek looks pissed all the time. He's also wearing a black tank top that shows off his newly formed shoulders and catches the eye by being very faintly glittery. Scott assures him he pulls it off, and once they step into the club, Stiles feels his confidence grow: there's a chubby guy wearing a fully purple and glittery onesie on the dance floor, and there is still a rather hot guy grinding against him. Also, the bartender only looks twice at him before handing him a drink (rum and coke, heavy on the rum). The whole pack is there, and at least Ethan and Danny are in in part of the plan, because as soon as Derek steps in the club, they sandwich Stiles in between them and have his usual flailing look sexy. So Stiles? Stiles wiggles his butt and enjoys the ride because, hey, there's too very handsome guys dancing against him. He's slightly buzzed, so when Danny and Ethan start sliding away, he doesn't hold them and keeps dancing, the bass strong enough that his feet are on the rhythm. He's not too sure what his arms are doing, but it must not be that terrible, because there's a cute guy looking at him a few feet away, and when Stiles smiles at him he comes closer. There's no actual contact, but there are definitely dancing together and really close to each other. Stiles wonders for all of two seconds of the guy is gay, before noticing the makeup, the tight white tshirt, the rainbow belt. Hmm, definitely gay. The guy isn't very tall, and is very thin, like even thinner than Stiles. And despite the ambient heat, Stiles feel himself redden. He's being hit on by a twink. He thought he'd be himself considered a twink on the gay scene, what with the paleness, the lack of hairs and the lanky thing he has going. He's okay not being the manliest man out there. I mean come on, he's hanging out with freaking werewolves. Anyway, he thought twinks didn't go for other twinks, but this cute guy with sandy hair is making bedroom eyes at him, and keeps doing this very suggestive move with his hips that has Stiles feel hot. The guy suddenly closes the small distance between them, plastering there fronts together, and wow, that's definitely a hard-on poking at Stiles thigh, and oh goody, now Stiles feels himself harden too. 

"You're thinking too much," the guy yells in his ear above the music. 

Stiles can't help it, he bursts out laughing. 

"That's a thing I do!" he answers. 

The guy smiles, and he has a dimple that very briefly reminds Stiles of Alison, but in a good, not-too-painful way. 

"Let go, just dance."

It's a good advice, so Stiles does just that, looses himself in the music, in the electrifying closeness of another body. And what if his new friend is just that: a friendly guy trying to help out a flailing guy? Well, Stiles watches the blond and copies his moves, and when the guy notices he smiles, bright, and start showing off all his moves. And gosh, he has some. The suggestive hip thing? Barely a start. Stiles looses track of time, he has fun, the guy looks like he has fun too, and never be said that Stiles isn't a fast learner. The music isn't Stiles's style at all, but it's easy to dance on, the beat a vibration in his body, easy to follow. 

In the end, Stiles needs a drink of water, badly, and leaves the dance floor with a tip of his imaginary hat and a bow to the blond guy, who waves before getting lost in the crowd. Stiles is gulping down his second glass of water when Lydia finds him. She's fuming. Oops. Stiles may have forgotten the whole Dancing With Derek thing that was supposed to happen. He saw him come in, but was supposed to play it cool at first, with Danny and Ethan, and then there was the blond guy and then he forgot. 

"Lydia..." She doesn't even speak, just imperiously points at the crowd. Stiles follows her finger, scanning the crowd, and his eyes fall on a familiar silhouette, wearing a white tank top that has seen better days (Stiles is pretty sure he's seen Derek train with it on the day before). The crowd moves and suddenly Stiles sees red. Guess who's rubbing their lithe body all over Derek's front? Blond Guy! Which confirms Stiles's doubts about him just being a nice dude earlier, teaching some moves to a fellow "twink." But oh, he has something else coming his way… Stiles slams his glass on the counter, and is ready to dive into the fray, when Lydia grab his arm, leans toward him and says in her ear: "You should have seen his face earlier, when you were dancing with the guy." She smiles, rueful, before letting go of him. Stiles barely takes a step when he feels her slap his ass to push him forward. Stiles grins, the ego-boost giving his step the extra bounce it needs. He shimmies his way across the dance floor until he reaches Derek and Blond Guy. Hidden by the writhing bodies, the noise and the smells of sweat and sex, Stiles approaches undetected. He spots the moment Derek senses him arriving, because his fake seductive smile leaves way to a wolfish one that fits his a lot more, and he turns the man in his arms, back to front, so that Blond Guy will face Stiles. For one more moment the man his unaware of Stiles arriving, to busy using the new angle to shamelessly grind his butt on Derek's crotch. But then he sees Stiles and there's surprise on his face, quickly replaced by a scrunched expression that screams "fuck off." But Stiles was playing nice earlier, happy to be taught a few moves, and he may not know how to dance that well, but he's had lessons lately on postures and body language. So he straightens his spine, puffs his chest, and does the Alpha Strut, with a bit more roll to his hips. He's manly, and strong, and he can ooze sexual confidence like nobody's business, okay. 

Stiles doesn't know if his posturing is working, but Blond Guy doesn't push him away when Stiles closes the distance between them, grinding on the guy's front, sandwiching him. Actually, he doesn't seem to mind at all, and when Stiles takes his best husky voice and says "Hey, leaving me already?" right in Blond Guy's ear, the man actually wraps one hand around his waist, the other still on Derek's hip. They dance for a short while before the grinding sandwich thing turns out not so easy. Blond Guy looks like he's expecting Stiles to leave, turning back to face Derek, but Stiles isn't above fighting dirty and darts dancing on his own, right there, throwing in there the most obscene moves he knows, some he learned from Blond Guy minutes earlier. He's getting looks, but they are actually mostly hungry, and it's not long before someone comes closer, a tall, built brunet which long hair, muscles and Native American tattoos. Blond Guy is busy grabbing Derek's butt and rubbing himself on the werewolf, but Derek's eyes are actually on Stiles. Stiles holds the werewolf's gaze, and then goes for the kill: he looks straight at the man he's dancing with and shift his posture, turning his head to show his neck, looking as small as he can. Submitting. He's learned a few interesting things shopping with Kira and Lydia earlier, even if there are things about Scott and Aiden he would have rather never known. 

Stiles knows he won when he hears a rumble behind him, right before strong arms snatch him, and suddenly that's Derek his back is plastered on, and Blond Guy is squeaking indignantly but Stiles doesn't miss a beat and starts enthusiastically rubbing himself on the werewolf. For a moement everything is perfect, Derek is moving with him, breathing on Stiles's neck, and Stiles is ready to move this to a bed sometime soon, already riled up by the previous dancing, and, Lord, Derek must be able to smell the arousal on him now that they are close, and...

And Derek is gone. 


	11. Chapter 11

It's Sunday morning and everybody knows Stiles is moping. He said he was too hangover to hangout, but the whole pack knows he never gets past tipsy anymore. Since the nogitsune, he hates for his brain not to feel like his own.

So they are all steer clear from him, having sensed his bad mood when he left the club early last night. Stiles is okay with being let alone to wallow in his misery. 

Lydia doesn't care. Lydia barges in at 8:30am. 

"So, on to plan B."

They discuss their options for a while, and Stiles grows annoyed. Some of these are utterly ridiculous. 

"On which world would I get roped in doing a charity car wash half naked and end up all over Derek's car in wet, white shorts?"

Lydia huffs and puts a question mark after plan D: Car wash. 

"What are you come up with next? Me waiting for Derek at his loft, naked on his bed, already prepped?"

"Now that you say it..."

Lydia is scribbling down plan E: Waiting naked at the loft when Stiles stops her hand with his. 

"Lydia, stop." He feels tired, and stupid. His life isn't a bad porno, for fuck's sake! "Pride might not be my most prominent trait of character, but I draw the line at loosing self-esteem."

Lydia must feel his change of mood because she sighs and puts a neat line across plan E. 

"What about plan B: Sexy Training?"

Stiles rubs his forehead. 

"It's not like I haven't thought of it myself. But it turns out that sweating and throwing people around and trying to get them into a choking hold or to knife them isn't very conclusive to setting a sexy mood." 

"Especially when Chris Argent is watching your every move like a hawk," ads Stiles. 

"Well, that leaves us with plan C: dirty talk. I fully trust you to come up with plenty innuendos about where broody werewolves can put their stiffness."

Stiles spits his coffee everywhere.

"Vivid imagination here, Lyds!"

Lydia smiles, delighted, and Stiles hides his answering smile by getting up and grabbing kitchen paper to mop the spilled coffee.

This is going to be fun. 

 

\---

 

It's all too easy. For how little he talks, Derek manages to leave a surprisingly high number of opportunities for Stiles to twist his words. 

"Come on, Stiles, it's a knife, you need to go at me like you want it to go in."

"Oh, I want _something_  to go in alright." Stiles mutters, knowing Derek will hear him, but not know if he was supposed to or not. The werewolf barely tenses, but enough for Stiles to know his message came across. 

"He's right Stiles, you need to attack like you actually want to touch him."

Stiles's heart misses a beat. If even Chris starts doing double entendre, he's done. Stiles sighs, and focuses on the training, and tries to imagine Derek is their latest threat. It's really hard. There are lots of graceful muscles being displayed, and stubble he wants to rub on like a cat. Derek swipes at him, thankfully clawless, and Stiles barely avoids it. He spots however an opening and kicks the side of Derek's knee, making him fall to the ground. Great, now Derek is kneeling, his head perfectly level with Stiles's crotch. Stiles focuses on getting his mind outside the gutter and brings his training knife to Derek's throat. The werewolf hesitates just long enough for Stiles to use a piece of string to tie his hands in his back. For now it's just that: a piece of string, but ultimately Chris will get Stiles a silver-threaded rope treated with all the supernatural repellents they know off. 

"A lot better. Now that the threat is bound, what do you do." 

Stiles glances back at Derek and, okay, maybe he'll start exploring bondage as a kink, because Derek manages to still look combative while tied up, and isn't that a turn on…

"I..." Stiles's voice embarrassingly cracks and he starts again: "I call for backup if it's not around. Even when dealing with an identified supernatural, I can't know if they'll have grown resistant to all the stuff we put in the rope." 

Chris nods sagely. "And if the threat looks like they're going to get free and kill you?"

"I kill them first."

"Good. I think we're done for tonight."

Derek immediately breaks free from the string and gets up. Chris and him shake hands and the older man leaves with a clap on Stiles's shoulder. 

Stiles winces and rubs his shoulder. "Why does he have to do that?!"

Derek snorts. "It's a father thing."

Stiles sighs, because it is, and because Chris isn't a father to anyone anymore, but it doesn't mean he lost the instinct. 

"Stop thinking, Stiles." Derek sounds fond, and his eyebrows do the concerned scrunch up. 

"There aren't many things that can get my brain to shut up" truthfully answers Stiles. 

"Oh, so there _are_ things that do _"_ and now Derek is all teasing and it's nice, and too beautiful to resist. 

"Well, let's see..." Stiles counts on his fingers: "Sleep, massages, orgasms" And he ads under his breath "all of which I'd gladly achieve with you."

And he's been coming up with increasingly trashier innuendos for the whole training session, but that's this plain comment that have Derek stumbling, his poker face falling under surprise, a blush creeping high on his cheekbones. 

"Stiles…" Derek's voice is tight and warning, but Stiles decides to play his luck. 

"Teach me massage? You said you would."

Derek takes the abrupt change of subjects in stride and sighs deeply, his face clearly showing he is already regretting it. 

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"We'll start tomorrow. Meet me at the loft instead of here. Work out, then massage."


	12. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guyyyyys! Thanks for all the comments, it warms my heart <3 
> 
> Here, have a little interlude in Derek's POV :)

Tomorrow comes both too quick and too slow.

Derek can't remember why he agreed to... to anything really. To having Stiles over for a "massage class," to be a functional person again, to be part of Scott's pack, to be a werewolf in the first place. He has been through enough therapy to accept himself as he is, a male, bisexual werewolf whose all family is dead. But it doesn't mean he doesn't wish it would be easier at times. Today, Morrell told him it was about time he made a move on Stiles. It wasn't professional of her at all, and Derek is pretty sure she was squealing internally. She seems strangely invested in their relationship. 

Anyway, now Derek is standing in the grocery store, looking at vegetables, and wondering if Stiles will be having dinner with him or not. Stiles is on his thoughts a lot. Has been for a while now. Since before he got injured, truly, yet in a vague, easily ignored way. But Derek knew he was screwed the first time Stiles appeared in the swimming pool, determination all over his face, brave even in a swimming cap, even with a limp and a scar, even with his awkward teenage body. Derek... Derek had entertained the idea of the male body before. He knew he was bi, but had only been with women before, so it still came as a surprise when, day after day, week after week, he found himself looking at Stiles in new ways. His eyes trailing the path drawn by his moles, wishing he could reach and touch. 

Derek grabs enough vegetables to make a salad for two, and moves on to the meat. Of course he refused to be that guy, the creepy coach who takes advantage of younger guys. Refused also to do anything that might unbalance the pack. Their dynamic was still in the work, Derek an outsider more often than not, while Stiles was the center, someone Scott asked for advice, someone who had managed to integrate Malia, even if they aren't together anymore. Even Lydia cared for him, if for no one else. It also irked Derek that Stiles was such a perfect match for him: energetic, knew about the supernatural, wouldn't take his shit, loyal when Derek had trust issues. He was the safe bet. The best bet. The only one really. It didn't help that he was growing into his body, that Derek got to see him shed the last physical traces of teenagehood, witnessing how the sharpness of his mind finally got to match his movements. It's hard not to pay attention when you're training someone. Hard not to want someone who challenges you at every turn but still trust you unconditionally with their lives. 

Derek sighs, moves past the meat, on to the dairy aisle to get milk, thinking about how he needs cereals too. Derek wonders what he eats for breakfast. Maybe... Maybe Stiles will stay the night. That's a dangerous thought, and the werewolf tries to push it away, wills his heart to beat slow and measured out of habit, even if no one can hear it. 

"Derek!"

Derek jumps and turns, just in time for a little girl to launch herself at him. He grabs her out of sheer reflex. 

"Martha!"

The girl's mother bowls out of the next aisle, cart coming in a bit too fast, and Derek reach out with the arm not busy carrying Martha to stop the cart. 

"Thanks! And sorry! She saw you from afar."

"Derek, you're wearing clothes!"

Martha sounds genuinely surprised and Derek can't help the bark of laughter that escapes him. He remembers realizing his teachers had a life outside school and finding it weird too. Penelope gapes at him a bit. 

"Laughter suits you, Mr Hale."

"Mr Hale was my dad."

"Derek then," she concedes, smiling. "How's Stiles?"

"Err, he's well."

"Good, good."

Before Derek tries to make further awkward small talk, a man peers round the corner and walks to them. He's thin and tall, his dark skin identifying him as the dad of Martha, who has curly hair and skin the color of caramel, despite Penelope being the whitest woman ever, blond with green eyes. 

"Derek, meet Eric, my partner. Eric, Derek is Martha's swimming instructor."

The man rakes his eyes from toe to head. 

"Well, I understand better why all the Beacon Hills moms have been so enthusiastic about swimming lately."

Martha laughs: "Some dads too."

Derek is very glad for his complexion suddenly, because he feels heat rising to his cheeks. 

"But Mom, Dad! Derek is with Stiles."

That's Martha, protesting loudly, and there is a lot of certainty in her voice, and even a bit of disappointment. Derek isn't sure what shows on his face but both parents burst out laughing. 

"Is Stiles the young man you told me about?" Eric asks Penelope. 

Penelope nods: "The cutie pie with the leg injury yes."

"The one Derek has a crush on?"

"A completely reciprocal crush, yes."

Derek resists the urge to flee, and looks for a socially acceptable way out as he puts Martha down on the ground.

"Actually," he says. "Stiles is coming over for… er… dinner, so I have to get moving."

His stumble have the couple glance at each other meaningfully and now Derek is thinking they're thinking Stiles and Derek are having sex like bunnies every night of the week. Derek groans, physically pained. He'd rather be fighting goblins right about now. He gives in to the urge and pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing that anything he'll try to add will surely backfire. 

"Well, we'll get going then," says Eric, saving him. 

Penelope smiles brightly and she reaches for Martha, who lets her mom take her hand. 

"Go get him tiger!" she exclaims.

Eric rolls his eyes, fond, and herds away his very pregnant partner, his daughter and their cart. Derek finds himself very grateful toward this stranger. After a while of standing there thinking too much, he turns back to the cereals.

  
_What cereals would Stiles like?_ he wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Netx… Boom chica wa wao!


	13. Chapter 13

 

By 6pm, Stiles is a ball of nervous energy ready to implode. He spent the whole day equally anxious and aroused at the thought of meeting up with Derek that night. 

All the pack members he saw today picked up on it. Scott isn't the only one who asked about it, but he's the only one Stiles truthfully answered to that he was meeting up with someone from the swimming pool, but didn't know how much of a date it was. Scott tried to ask for details, but the only other tidbit of information Stiles gave him was the gender of his date. 

Of course Lydia knows, and when the last bell rings and Stile heads home, she follows the jeep to his house and chooses what he'll wear while Stiles takes a _thorough_ shower. He did his research, okay. At 6:30pm, he heads for Derek's place in an outfit more suited for a dinner out (black jeans, grey button shirt) and with lube, condoms and massage oil in his backpack. 

He's never been so nervous. He faced down a kanima, alphas, berserkers, frigging pixies, and he's never felt this peculiar brand of nerves before, not even when he briefly was with Malia. Stiles wonders if Derek can hear him coming, his heart quick and probably loud enough to have been heard from the car park. He knows he guessed right when Derek slides the door open before Stiles has even reached it. Stiles immediately knows he overdid it. Derek is wearing his usual white tank top and sports pants. Oh crap. Stiles forgot they were supposed to workout...

"Stiles."

Derek's voice is pained and the wave of disappointment crashes hard on Stiles. He doesn't dare look at Derek in the eye and stare at his shoes. 

"I... I guess I misinterpreted things... Again. I... I'll go..."

"Stiles…"

Something in Derek's voice has Stiles snaps his eyes up and... And...

"You... You shaved?!"

Stiles likes the stubble-and-leather bad boy thing Derek has going on most days, but seeing his face so smooth makes him want to reach, to kiss, to caress. 

He refrains and asks instead: "Why?"

The werewolf sighs, and Stiles swears Derek might be blushing. 

"I... So you wouldn't get stubble burn."

It's kind of mumbled, but perfectly clear. Stiles's heart swoops inside his ribcage, and Derek's eyes zero in on Stiles's chest. Maybe Stiles did get them right then, the mixed signals. 

"So... What about I come in?"

Derek immediately slinks back so that Stiles can pass the door, and closes it behind him. They stand there, silent and awkward, and Stiles anxiety peeks, making him sweat, and there's no way Derek won't be able to tell he's nervous as Hell, and did he ruin everything already? He never thought _not_ talking would be the problem, what with his habit to babble, and...

"Stiles, stop thinking."

"Well, dude, what about we start, I don't know, doing... things, because let me tell you, this is awkward, and I know awkward, I'm the King of awkwa..."

"Stiles."

Stiles shuts up and cringes. That could have gone smoother. Derek looks like he's bracing himself, tight shoulders and pinched eyebrows, like right before a fight, 

"I... I'm not good at this, at dating..." The werewolf makes a vague gesture, like he's looking for words. 

"Dating a guy?" Stiles guesses. 

"No! Well, that too," Derek amends. "I mean dating someone I already care about."

Stiles stomach does a somersault. 

"You care about me?"

Derek eyebrows do the "duh" scrunch, and okay, Stiles already knew that Derek cared, but it's still nice to hear it. 

"But not jut in a friendly we-save-each-other's-lives way?" he asks, just to be sure. 

"No, Stiles, in a I'm-definitely-attracted-to-you way."

"Well... That's good, because I care that way too." A pause. "And I'm obviously attracted to you. Actually, you probably drown in my arousal all the time."

"I... I don't dislike it."

"That's good to know."

They stay silent for a little moment, still awkward. 

"Soooo... Now that it's been said... What should we do?" asks Stiles. 

"We could do a number of things really. Kiss, eat dinner, massage each other, eventually have sex."

Derek's tone is awfully flat, like he's a bored Parisian waiter listing wine options for some fancy dish, but there's something of a smile lingering on his lips. 

"That's... Derek Hale, are you sassing me right now?"

Derek's shadow of a smile grows larger and it makes Stiles want to climb him like a tree. So Stiles does just that, throws himself at Derek knowing the werewolf will be able to catch him. Their first kiss is crooked, Stiles getting his mouth a bit on the side of Derek's as the werewolf steadies him. Stiles can feel Derek smile against his lips in the second kiss, and then he's smiling back in the next one and then they are a really kissing, and Stiles quickly looses count, gives in into the heat and the feeling of Derek's tongue in his mouth, and it's kind of gross to think about it when detached from the situation, but once in it, it's pretty awesome. 

When they break for air, Derek looks a bit dazed, and that's wonderful, to think Stiles has this effect on Derek. 

"What was on your list after kiss? Dinner? Or…?" 

Derek smiles, small, and then wider when he hears Stiles's heart quicken as Stiles leaves the other options unsaid. 

"Salad ok for dinner?"

It not what Stiles had imagined at all for their first night together, but they are hardly conventional on other aspects either, so they have dinner, and conversation flows quite easily, their own brand of flirting and banter mixed, intertwined with serious subjects. Stiles explains he has no intention to go far for college because the pack needs him close and Derek agrees, explains he might complete his studies and become a coach for the local swim team eventually, when things are quieter. 

After eating they kiss some more, standing at first, then on the couch. Stiles finds out he's not in a hurry. He's anxious, of course, and Derek admits he is too, because he's never been with a guy before either. It's good, talking about it. They agree on starting small, and on Derek bottoming first, because Derek isn't sure how much strength he can use with a guy. It's all very strange to discuss, and easy at the same time, because Stiles can tell Derek is getting all hot and bothered, as much as Stiles is, and it's reassuring too, to know what they are getting into. 

They kiss some more, move to the bed, undress down to their underwear. They've seen each other in that state of undress a hundred times by then, and the sight isn't a surprise, but it still feels new, different, because now Stiles can touch, and when Derek looks at him, the intent is different. 

"Massage?" asks Derek. 

Stiles reaches out, splay a hand in the center of Derek's chest, happy to feel his heart beating fast. 

"Yeah. I still want to learn. I want to know all the ways to make you feel good."

Derek makes a pleased sound, a rumble Stiles feels through his hand more than hears. Derek leads him to the bed, and Stiles snatches the oil from his bag. 

"Always prepared, I see," teases Derek. 

"You know it, big guy."

Stiles could also produce Deaton's knife from the pile of clothes he abandoned, and there's mountain ash and powered wolfsbane in his backpack. The containers are so well sealed, to avoid accidents, that Stiles would have to break them to use the contents. 

"So how do we do?" the young man asks.

"Lie down."

Stiles does so, on his front. He feels Derek settling on top of him, sitting on his butt, and he's glad they still have their underwear on, because his focus is already at 60% on those sensations, and on wondering if maybe it's Derek's junk he feels on his butt cheeks. 

Because Stiles is busy not popping a boner, the first touch comes as a surprise. A slick, oily, delicious surprise that sends shivers down his spine. 

"Wow..." He breathes out. "Feels a lot better than the muscle cream."

Derek snorts. 

"That cream wasn't supposed to be used for massages." 

_Oh_  thinks Stiles, and because he's a little shit, he asks aloud for confirmation:

"So you just really wanted to put your hands everywhere on me."

Derek groans, aggravated. 

"Yes, Stiles. I thought we had established I wanted you already."

Derek puts more pressure on parts of Stiles he didn't even know where tense, but he can feel himself turn to goo. 

"But it's nice to be reminded." he finally quips back, except it comes out more pleading than intended. 

Derek works at a knot in the bottom right of his back, before making broader gestures again, the heels of his strong hands tracing parallel lines up on each side of his spine. 

"Stiles Stilinski," he says, and it feels both playful and grave to be called by his full name. "I've been lusting after you since way before it was legal."

"What, my nubile body..."

"No. Try your loyalty, your fierceness, your willingness to risk your life to save mine. Your cleverness too. Watching you research and figure things out is a turn on."

Well, now Stiles is definitely hard. He might have developed a praise kink right this instant. Derek is able to tell too, because he takes a deep breath in and his hands still on Stiles's skin. 

"So my hands on you don't do it but my voice does?"

"I... I had to get used to your hands... At the swimming pool, during training..."

Stiles trails off, because Derek's hands have started moving again, and it's not a professional massage anymore. It's caressing, sensual, a barely-there pressure skimming on Stiles's shoulders, arms, ribs, lower back.

"But… but it works too," mumbles Stiles, stretching under the sensation, wanting to reciprocate now.

He squirms to turn around and Derek obliges him, lifting up from Stiles's body until the young man has rolled on his back. For a moment, Stiles jump from places to places on Derek's body, hands hovering between them, wanting to touch everywhere and not quite sure what to start with. Derek sits back on him, and they are both hard, and the barrier of their boxers do nothing to hide it. The weight and the knowledge that Derek is as excited as he is, and maybe just as unsure to what the next step is, has something settling in Stiles's guts.

Finally he lets his long fingers curl around Derek's nape, bringing him close. They kiss, filthy but unhurried, shared breath and groans the only sounds in the loft. Stiles starts rocking up, long rolls of his hips that do very little to alleviate the heat pooling between their crotch. Derek whines, pained, and Stiles freezes.

"Did I…"

"No, no, less clothes, more lube," pants Derek in his ear.

They wiggle and squirm until they are both rid of their underwear, and Derek leans back in, for a kiss, then to nibble at Stiles's jaw and earlobe and neck and collarbone and…

"Stiles?"

"Wha… What?"

Stiles may have zoned out on the last few minutes. He unclenches his hands where they are gripped in the sheets, and settles them on Derek's hips, tracing little circles there.

"What do you want to do?" Derek asks again, a smile playing on his lips but zero judgment in it.

"Man, I don't know. I think we should start small. Handjobs, you know. We have all night, for the rest."

Derek's smile gets brighter, like he hadn't thought of _several_ rounds of sex tonight was a possibility. He sits back a little, and holds his hand out, palm up.

"Lube?"

"In my bag…" Stiles begins. 

"Under the pillow," counters Derek. 

They look at each other and laugh. Stiles reaches under the pillow his head is on and comes back victoriously holding the bottle. He squeezes some on Derek's palm and the sound is obscene and ridiculous, makes Stiles want to giggle but he holds it back, for fear of breaking the mood. Soon enough, Derek wraps his hand around both of them, and starts pumping. 

After that he's too busy  _feeling_  to worry about ruining anything. He's vaguely aware he's moaning like he's trying out for a porno, but Derek doesn't seem to mind. Actually, Derek looks dazed, groans of his own answering Stiles, eyes roaming, taking in how their dicks look pressed together, looking at Stiles's belly, at his chest, at his face, like he can't quite believe it. 

After a little while, Derek lets go of himself to wraps his hand more tightly around Stiles's cock, running his thumb on the head at each up stroke, slow and purposeful. Stiles reaches for Derek, even though crossing arms will make it uneasy, but Stiles bats his hand away. Stiles makes an affronted noise but Derek grumbles: "Can't, will come... if you touch me. Later."

Stiles sighs at that, because it's okay if Derek comes first, Stiles really doesn't care, is it a werewolf thing, wanting to satisfy his partner first, or a Derek thing? Stiles must be saying this aloud because Derek huffs, amused. 

"It's a me thing, Stiles."

There is something heavy in that sentence, and Kate flashes in Stiles head, but it's not the time, and he forces himself to think about something else. It's not a hardship either, with the promising way Derek scoots down until he can nuzzle Stiles's belly, then the junction of his leg and crotch, then his balls. Stiles forgets to breathe for one second, until Derek licks a long stripe up his cock and takes him in his mouth. 

The lube probably tastes strange, but Derek doesn't have to bear it too long, because Stiles comes embarrassingly soon. He tries to pull Derek off right before, but Derek hums and swallows. Stiles lays there, breathing, for a little while, and Derek scoots up, kisses him idly, lying by Stiles's side. The taste is sour and salty, but nothing unbearable, and it should be gross but really, they've shared grossest fluids when they were still tentative friends. 

"Do you remember that time I had to suck poisoned blood out of your arm"

Derek hums. "You swallowed. I feared you had turned into a vampire."

"It was a reflex!" protests Stiles. 

He swats half-heartedly at Derek, but it transforms into caresses, and Stiles let his hands roam down, down, down, until he reaches Derek's dick, still hard and reasonably slick from the lube. The werewolf lets Stiles figure out what he wants to do, and after a few tugs, Stiles realizes the angle will never work. So he props himself up on the headboard and drag Derek until he is sitting between Stiles's splayed legs. Stiles is grateful for his long arms as in the perfect position to rest his head on Derek's tattoo and whisper dirty talk as he wanks the werewolf. Stiles feels a bit ridiculous again, telling Derek how much he thought of that, of them together, of putting his hands on Derek, but the werewolf leans further back, moaning softly, eyes closed and relaxed but for his hips, that he lazily rolls up, fucking himself on the tight circle of Stiles's hand. Derek isn't cut, but Stiles figures he'll still like the same things, and uses all the tricks he knows work on himself. He doesn't mind the slow rhythm of it, because it's comfortable and sexy. He's considering changing hands though when Derek suddenly gasps and comes, with no warning signs. He tenses, surprised himself, coming in one long spurt, before sinking completely into Stiles embrace. Stiles sits back and is more than happy to hold on to him once he cleaned his hand on the sheet, marveling at how big Derek is but how well he still fits in his arms. Derek's head fell back on Stiles's shoulder and the young man mouths at the werewolf Adam's apple. Derek mumbles an incoherent protest, but doesn't twitch a muscle. Stiles squirms to settle more comfortably on the pillows, and gently mocks:

"Well I think I understand why you wanted me to come first. Are you always so out of it after?"

Derek makes an attempt at moving but Stiles just tighten his hold. He knows he doesn't stand a chance of Derek really decides to move, but the werewolf leans back in with a huff. 

"Sometimes, when I'm tired. I haven't slept so well last night."

"Nervous?"

Derek nods, and that's... A warm feeling floods Stiles, and there's this pinching sensation in his chest. It's wonderful, in the truest meaning of the word: it fills Stiles with wonder, to realize this big, tough guy is as worried, and committed, to their relationship. 

"Stiles? You ok?"

Stiles breathes deep, waits for his heart to slow down, before he answers Derek: "I love you."

There's a moment when nothing happens, just long enough for Stiles to start panicking, but then Derek is breaking out of Stiles's embrace so he can turn around and _pounce_  on him, holding him tight, kissing him, until they are both breathless and laughing because the brutal switch of position has them fall off the bed a bit. 

Derek doesn't say the words back, but Stiles can feel them in his kisses, in his reverent hands on Stiles's skin, in his blue-green eyes. 

Confessions can wait. They have all night for it, and then the day after. 

And the next day,

And the next week,

And the next month. 

 

Bare supernatural chaos and death, they will have a whole lot of next years to voice those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the end of this fic! It's been great reading your comments all along, and I hope the end doesn't disappoint :) 
> 
> I'm already thinking about the next fic. I'm hesitant which to write first!  
> \- Space army AU (with Lycans as an alien specie)  
> \- Greek style AU (with Derek a werewolf general and Stiles a prisoner turned slave. There won't be noncon, dubcon at most)
> 
> Tell me which one you'd like to read!


End file.
